The Beast Within: Mended Souls #2

by Jacquie Biggar

  What was he saying? Why would it matter to him if she went away for a while? He should be happy to have her gone, she was using up valuable resources with her police guard. Unless…

  “You don’t need to worry,” she said, lifting her chin. “Even if I had left town, I would have been back when your case went to trial. I fully realize I’m a possible key witness.”

  Disappointment lay like a heavy weight over her chest. She should have known. He wasn’t there for her, he was only trying to protect his investment. Make sure all the I’s were dotted when he finally caught the person behind these murders. She squared her shoulders. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. That’s where her focus should be also, getting justice for the families suffering the loss of their loved ones. Not worrying whether some man might miss her if she was gone, or not.

  “Julie.” He reached out, but then let his hand drop.

  She hated to admit she ached for his touch.

  He gestured toward her car. “Let me drive you home.”

  She stared at him, perplexed. “Why?”

  He shrugged and attempted a lame joke. “I always wanted to see what went into fifty years of racing technology.”

  Instead of the intended laughter, his words made the hair squirm on the back of her neck. “What’s going on, Connor? Why are you really here?”

  He glanced around the lot, then ushered her into the car on the passenger side. “I’ll tell you once we get out of here.”

  He was making her feel like there was a giant target pinned to her back, which was silly. Why would the killer come after her? She knew little about the case, and finding that foot on the beach, while horrifying, was certainly not enough to lead the police to whoever was behind the crime. Unless they did find something…?

  He closed her door and strolled around the front of the car, and her heart fluttered. The wind caressed his tobacco brown locks, sending a few hairs tumbling across his forehead. He impatiently brushed them aside, his forearm bunching with muscle. When he climbed in, his shoulders took up much of the space in the front seat. When had her car become so small?

  He spent a few moments rearranging her driver’s seat and setting the mirrors, then did up his seatbelt, his hand coming way too close to her hip for comfort. Then he quit moving around and looked at her with a raised brow.

  It took her a second to get with the program and dig around in her bag for the keys, her cheeks uncomfortably hot. She dropped them into his open hand and waited, anxious to open her window and get some air that didn’t smell of pine and testosterone.

  Connor started the car and chuckled when the engine gave its customary burp, burp, groan, before turning over. “This is some hotrod you have.” He grinned and her stomach did cartwheels. “Do up your seatbelt.”

  She grimaced, but did as he asked. It took a few miles of white-knuckling the seat under her thighs before Julie could settle down and acknowledge his expertise behind the wheel during the heavy highway traffic, but she still hugged the door to give him plenty of room for maneuvering.

  He glanced over and smiled. “Relax, Julie, I’m not going to wreck your baby here.”

  She clenched her fingers around the seatbelt hugging her chest and tried to do as he suggested. The ocean peek-a-booed behind stands of arbutus and maple trees. It was impossible to retain her melancholy mood with views like that. And the detective wasn’t bad either.

  “So you going to tell me why you wasted half your morning to chase after me?” she asked.

  He signaled and passed a tractor trudging down the road, waited until it was safe, then slid smoothly back into the right lane before he answered. “Our guy is escalating.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Another severed foot was found this morning, honey.” He reached over and clasped her hand and she realized she’d started to tremble.

  Where?”

  “Vancouver, along the Sunshine Coast highway.”

  She could feel his concerned gaze, but kept her head turned away, barely noticing the fields and homes that flashed by interspersed with an obscene stretch of billboards advertising everything from whale tours to moving companies.

  Another foot.

  Another young woman who would never grow old enough to hold her grandchildren. As a parent, Julie ached for the girl’s family. As a woman, she mourned the loss of her virtue. Her life.

  Why was he doing this? What made him hate women so much that he had to violate not only their bodies, but their very souls?

  “We’re going to get him.” Connor said, but she wasn’t so sure. And that’s when she knew she had to tell him everything she and Ron had found.

  She turned to face him and took a moment to study the hard angles of his nose and jaw. This was a man’s man. She could easily picture him kicking back with the boys, teaching them how to shoot hoops, or cast a fishing rod. He had a love of the outdoors written all over him, from his reddish brown tan to the deep lines by the corners of his eyes caused by squinting into the sun.

  She liked him, and she respected his judgement. So whether Ron wanted to go for the big story or not, she needed to come clean.

  “You have a few minutes when we get there?” she asked, and blushed when he gave her a look laden with male interest. “I… I have something I want to show you.” Okay, that came out wrong. “About the case. It might help.”

  The smile died out of his eyes, and left them a steely gray. “Sure, I need to wait for a ride to my car anyway.”

  She’d be ruining her chance with the station. They wouldn’t want to keep her after this. They’d have to move back to Chicago, but it didn’t matter. As long as they caught the killer, she’d be happy.

  Even if it meant leaving Connor behind.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Connor kept his eyes on the busy highway, though he was hyper-aware of the woman sitting inches away. The open windows let in the fresh spring breeze along with the roar of traffic. It also played havoc with Julie’s golden-brown hair. Every time the honeyed strands caressed the skin of his forearm he quivered, the sensation as erotic as her kisses.

  He had to concentrate to keep his foot light on the gas pedal when all the while his little head urged him to race home, drag her into the house, and not come out for a week. Of course that wasn’t going to happen. She’d probably deck him if he tried, but that didn’t stop the fantasy from playing out in his mind.

  She’d dressed for her day off in a pair of mint green mid-thigh shorts and a white t-shirt with the logo, Moms know best. His momma never looked like that. Those shorts were driving him crazy. Whenever she moved, the material inched higher, tempting him to help. Her skin, touched with a slight blush from the early summer sun, looked like the finest velvet, soft and smooth and oh-so lush.

  He shifted and hoped like hell she wouldn’t notice what she did to him. He reached over and switched on the radio, surprised when hip hop blared out of the tinny speakers. He met her gaze with a raised eyebrow.

  “What?” she asked. “I like upbeat music, okay?”

  He grinned, charmed by her defensive attitude. “Sure. I just never pictured you as the street dancer type.”

  She looked at him and smiled, relaxing. God, he loved her smile. “I have moves,” she said.

  Oh, he didn’t doubt that for a second. It was imagining her moves that was getting him into trouble.

  “You’ll have to show me some time,” he murmured.

  A comfortable silence fell between them. If it weren’t for the fact a killer was on the loose and possibly after his girl here—His girl. Where did that come from? He slid her a sideways glance, and was treated to the vision of her lip-syncing and gyrating to the music, totally out of harmony and absolutely adorable.

  It was like a sledgehammer nailed him square in the chest. He damn near hit the brakes.

  He was falling for Julie Crenshaw.

  His mouth went dry and he choked, coughing like a blinking idiot. Which he was. This was not good. Not good at all.

&
nbsp; “Are you okay?” she asked, concern turning her eyes deep and mysterious as the rainforest. She patted his arm and he wanted to tell her he wasn’t one of her kids, but the lump in his throat was growing from a tadpole into a bullfrog. He waved and nodded and blamed the moisture in his eyes on the dry cough.

  “Swallowed wrong,” he managed to get out and she nodded as though that made perfect sense.

  “We’re almost home. You can get a drink then.” She smiled with sympathy.

  What he needed was a stiff shot of whiskey. He’d sworn he would never go down this road again. The last time he’d cared for a woman, she’d ended up dead. Sex was fine. Good even. And there wasn’t room for regrets. But Julie wouldn’t be that kind of a relationship. She radiated home and hearth and happily-ever-afters.

  Not his kind of girl at all.

  He turned into her driveway with a sense of relief. At least now they could focus on the case and leave all this other… personal goop behind.

  The yard showed evidence of two active young children. A basketball hoop was hung rather drunkenly from the garage and waved in the breeze above the hood of the car. A pedal bike lay on its side on the edge of the sidewalk as though the owner had just left it to run indoors, and a trampoline had been set up near the corner of the house. A family lived here. He’d known that before, of course. It just hadn’t really registered until now. Like a fool, in some far off corner of his mind, he’d still been entertaining thoughts of getting her into bed.

  Not anymore.

  Julie had more than enough responsibilities on her plate. Even if a session of hotter-than-hell sex—and he had a feeling with her it would be scorching—was good for the soul, she’d suffer for it, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that happened.

  So yeah, no sex.

  Damn.

  “Watch your step. I told the boys to clean up before they left, but you know how kids are.” She grinned and opened the car door.

  He followed behind, his skin not quite fitting right. She was an anomaly, Julie Crenshaw. She looked like a calendar pin-up girl, and yet was a crack reporter and a caring parent. Every time he turned around, she revealed another fascinating facet of her personality. Hell, she lip-synced for cripes sake.

  How was he supposed to defend himself against that?

  The house was dim after the brightness of the sun and felt like a cool sanctuary. One he didn’t want to leave.

  She set her bag down on the cluttered coffee table and headed down the hall toward the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  Connor frowned, eyeing the assortment of coloring books and crayons. “Yeah, sure. Black’s fine.” He edged his way into the room and sat gingerly on the chesterfield with its faded plaid material. Probably safer than leather with kids. His sleek furniture would be as out of place as he was here. There were family photos on the wall behind him. Lots of the boys through their stages of growth, and one of Julie, beautiful as a princess in her wedding gown, her tall, lean husband gazing down into her face with adoration. They’d been a handsome couple and he fully expected to feel some jealousy, but instead it was empathy that flooded his chest. They’d had their whole lives in front of them, and in the blink of an eye it all changed.

  It took him a long time after Karen died. They’d been living together in Vancouver for two years and he’d been working up to asking her to marry him when she’d been caught in the crossfire between two gangs. He’d never gotten the chance to say good-bye, she’d died on-scene, and he regretted it to this day.

  “I want my kids to always remember what their father looked like.” Julie entered the room, two steaming mugs of caffeinated goodness in her hands.

  Connor stood and took one of the cups. “You’re a good mother,” he said, and meant it.

  She laughed. “Not sure the boys would always agree with you.” Her gaze went to her husband’s picture and the infinite sadness hurt his heart. “He was a wonderful father.”

  She turned and set her cup with careful precision over a faded coffee ring left on the wood of the table and sat on the sofa instead of the room’s only other chair.

  Connor hesitated, not sure if he should move or resume his seat. He sighed, and sat. The weight of his body tipped the cushions and she rolled his way, stopping her momentum with a hand on his thigh.

  He froze, not daring to so much as breathe.

  Their eyes met.

  Hers widened, no doubt because his was filled with a lust he couldn’t control. She went to lift her hand and he stopped her, lacing their fingers together. Throwing common sense out the window, he carefully guided her palm in a slow glide up and down his leg, the muscles twitching beneath her touch.

  Her mouth opened in a near-silent gasp and he gave in to the devil riding his shoulder and leaned over, intent on fulfillinging his fantasy.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The combination of rough denim and tensile muscle beneath her hand, and the molten steel of Connor’s eyes, drew Julie into a web of sensual heat she was helpless to deny.

  He leaned nearer and her heart beat wildly beneath her breast.

  He was going to kiss her.

  She forgot to breathe.

  Finally, his lips met hers and the tension released with a soft sigh of acceptance. Her eyes slid closed, the better to take in all the sensations bombarding her senses. Mint and coffee. Musk and man. Good. So good. He took his time, teasing and tasting until she thought she’d go mad. His arm around her waist tugged her close. Hip to thigh, breast to chest. Mouth to mouth. Their bodies fit as though they were made for each other. He was all hard planes to her softer curves. Strong where she was weak. And yet, his hand trembled against the side of her face and his heart pounded beneath her fingertips.

  The power was heady.

  She affected this man. He wanted her. And she him. Julie couldn’t deny the heat racing under her skin, or the swelling of her breasts. She ached for him. It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

  She opened her mouth and he swept in, conquering this new ground with a growl of approval that vibrated through her body and sent tingles between her thighs. His deft fingers unhooked her bra and followed the loosened material around to her nipples. The combination of his tongue mating with hers, and calloused fingers caressing her breast, created a maelstrom of want such as she’d never felt before.

  No longer content to be the supplicant, Julie ran impatient fingers over the buttons of his chambray shirt, anxious to touch warm, hard muscle. To copy the path of turmoil he had caused. She left his mouth to spread kisses along his jaw, and reveled in his groan. Her lips moved lower, tugged at an earlobe, nipped at the pulse jumping in his neck. Down, down, past the opening she’d made in his shirt. Over a taut pec. A pebbled nipple.

  Her other hand slid up his thigh. Brushed against the swell of his manhood. Hesitated. Opened, and cupped him in her palm.

  Heat.

  Life.

  Love.

  Startled, she opened her eyes and saw Mike staring down at her from their wedding picture, a sad acceptance turning his beloved face desolate.

  “Stop.” Julie scrambled to pull away, righting her clothes and trying not to cry. What had she done?

  Connor eased back, confusion and then worry turning his eyes a stormy gray. “Talk to me, Jules.” He reached out to brush her cheek and she flinched. He froze, and his hand fell to his lap. “What’s wrong?”

  Her gaze skittered. “Nothing. I just think we should focus on the case, that’s all.” She hopped to her feet and strode to the window, desperate to put some space between them.

  “Jules.”

  She swung around, incensed. “Don’t call me that. It’s Julie, okay?”

  Connor sat, gaze narrowed, under their wedding picture, and it was too much.

  She hurried down the hall and into the washroom, tears blinding her path. The door slammed. Alone, with only her guilty eyes staring from the mirror for companionship, she slid to the floor and wept.

  What the hel
l just happened?

  Connor shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, perplexed. They’d been enjoying each other’s company—a lot—when Jules… Julie, suddenly spooked and high-tailed it out of the room like a scalded cat.

  He needed to talk to her, apologize, but first he had to cool down. She’d managed to turn him inside out with just a few rubs and kisses. What would’ve happened if they had gone all the way? He shuddered.

  She confused him more than any woman he’d ever met. What was it about her that wouldn’t allow him to walk away? She was a distraction he couldn’t afford right now. His job was to keep her safe and catch a murderer.

  That’s all she could be to him. A means to an end.

  A cold blast hit him between the shoulder blades. He cursed, and turned, expecting to see the door flung wide, but it was still closed. Frowning, he stood and searched the room, grimacing at the knife-like pain in his back. The bright and cheerful room had turned gloomy, as though a storm brewed, though the sky beyond the window, was blue. His gaze landed on the disapproving face of Julie’s dead husband. He tipped his head. It had to be a trick of lighting. The guy had been about to marry the most beautiful woman in the world, no way would he be pissed off.

  Sure enough, when he moved so that the shadows dispersed, the picture went back to normal, a young couple, madly in love on their wedding day. It suddenly dawned on him what was wrong. Julie felt guilty. There was no reason to, her husband had been gone for some time now, but that wouldn’t make it any easier.

  Shit. He was an idiot.

  Who else would make a move on a woman under her husband’s watchful eyes?

  He’d better apologize to her and hope like hell he hadn’t ruined things between them forever. But first… “I’m sorry, man, but you had her love. How about giving me a chance?”

  Connor sighed and turned away from her ex’s condemning eyes drilling a hole in his back. Time to make a confession.